


Achievement City was a lot of things to a lot of people.

by Cockbite (personalized_radio)



Series: The Cockbite Syndicate [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, M/M, Other, Pre-Fake AH Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10908021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personalized_radio/pseuds/Cockbite
Summary: To some, it was just a place to live. They were born there; they would live there and grow old there and die there.To the rest, it was a faded oblivion.They would show up to the shadows and alleys, limping or running or crawling, hoping desperately for a new life, a new home, only to slowly die away - nothing more than forgotten steps in an abandoned street.But, because there’s always a ‘but’, a few get more out of a place like Achievement City than anyone really had a right to. They didn’t let the streets forget - they just blew them up.





	Achievement City was a lot of things to a lot of people.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [on Tumblr](https://cockbite.tumblr.com/) if you'd like! I post fake/gta!au stuff :)

Achievement City was a lot of things to a lot of people.

To some, it was just a place to live. They were born there; they would live there and grow old there and die there.

To the rest, it was a faded oblivion.

They would show up to the shadows and alleys, limping or running or crawling, hoping desperately for a new life, a new home, only to slowly die away - nothing more than forgotten steps in an abandoned street.

But, because there’s always a ‘but’, a few get more out of a place like Achievement City than anyone really had a right to. They didn’t let the streets forget - they just blew them up.

It was that third group, that select population of people who seemed almost hell-bent on destroying the whole place just so their names could be scorched into the remains forever, that the ACPD were trying to weed out before something worse than a small-time criminal robbing a gas station happened.

Geoff Ramsey hadn’t planned on being in that third group. When he’d first found Achievement City, he’d been in that second group, a hollow man with nothing to live for, crawling through the trash and grime of city streets because he had nothing else to do except get  _away_  from everything in his old life.

He lived in a rundown box of an apartment, barely big enough for a stove, fridge, and bed. He spent most of his nights on the floor between the bed and the bathroom - a yellow, broken toilet, a stand-alone cracked porcelain sink, and a facet hanging on the ceiling above a drain instead of a proper shower - so drunk he couldn’t even see. During the day, he did work where he could find it, lifting shit, running shit, building shit, fixing shit. Whatever he was asked to do, he’d do. He’d pay rent, his water and electric included, and spend just a little bit on whatever food caught his fancy - sometimes high class like actual lunch meat and bread, sometimes whatever was cheapest when he walked into the 7-Eleven - and the rest would go to booze. It didn’t help. He didn’t even really fucking like it, but it was all he knew now and, of all things, he wasn’t going to change his drinking habits first.

Geoff, he’d decided in a fit of drunken rage, still thinking back on his old crew, the betrayal that left him in a place like this, was a fucking idiot. He was a stupid, soft-hearted fool, and how he’d ever tricked himself into trusting a group of criminals was beyond him, now.

Filled with cheap, off brand piss, Geoff looked back on every decision he’d ever made with his old crew, tried to pinpoint when he became the kind of person to be shocked that the city scum he’d scraped up and put in a crew had turned their guns to him instead of the target for a chance at a bigger cut. He thought his first mistake was picking them in the first place. He didn’t regret killing them, not a bit.

He regretted every laugh, though. Every smile, every time he went out of his way to protect them. The money he gave up for them - gone now, in some offshore bank account they’d set up before he’d killed them, out of his reach forever. The time and effort and emotion he’d thrown into keeping them safe and alive and healthy while he spent hours meticulously planning, working his ass off to pull off heists, to keep other gangs off their backs.

He regretted so much, really.

He probably would have died. You didn’t live long in a city like this without people to look out for you, and Geoff didn’t have enough in him to even pretend that he was interested in anything except alcohol and knocking the fuck out of some asshole in every bar he frequented. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Geoff probably  _would_  have died, had he not met Jack.

Jack, the first time they came into contact, was wearing a pair of shorts just slutty enough to catch his attention but with a face just unique enough to stop him from staring at his ass instead. Lipstick red as blood, eyeliner black as sin, and a beard decked out in as many flowers as could be woven in, Jack had been a spot of color (a lot of color, because his shirt was downright horrendous and that ass was the only thing saving the outfit, really) in an otherwise dark alley. He had a gun in one hand, nails painted different colors to match his shirt, and one bright red high heel in the other. Across the white back of his shorts - and the pink of the  _panties_  underneath - read ‘ASSTASTIC.’

“Um,” Geoff slowly swirled the stem of the bottle in his hand. He had no clue what was in it, no clue what he’d been drinking all night, but it didn’t really matter. Whatever was happening in this alley - a gun unshot, but bloody like it had been, and a battered gangster with a few gaping holes in his face - was infinitely more interesting than getting drunk again.

“Don’t touch what isn’t yours.” Jack - at that time, just Guy With Nice Ass and Bloody Gun - frowned, stepping away from the still body and tilting the heel to take a look. When Geoff peered deeper into the darkness, he realized that the heel was bloody, too.

Explained the holes.

“I get you,” Geoff nodded, stepping back when Guy With Nice Ass and Bloody Gun moved to leave the alley. He dropped the heel and put his foot back into it, gaining a good four inches with confidence, and took the bottle Geoff offered to him.

Geoff, dumbly, watched him finish off the last bottle of alcohol he could afford until Tuesday and tried to calm his heart. There was something about the blood on the gun, the look of utter calm on his made-up face, that made Geoff feel grounded.

“My name’s Jack,” Jack offered his hand, blood spattered, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I know everyone around these parts.”  
“I’m new.” Geoff admitted, “Two months back, I moved here.”

Jack dropped his eyes to his hand and Geoff found himself taking the offering, shaking and feeling a strong, firm grip around his palm before they dropped their hands.

“I, uh,” Geoff cleared his throat, “I like your flowers.”  
“Thanks,” Jack smiled, all soft features and ginger beards. Geoff, who wasn’t drunk enough to not feel arousal and wasn’t sober enough to remember his old crew, blushed.

“Why didn’t you just shoot him?” Geoff couldn’t help but ask, glancing over Jack’s shoulder to look at the body. At first, he’d thought that maybe Jack had just taught him a lesson. Looking again, it was pretty obvious that Jack had shoved the heel of his shoe through his face and into his brain a few too many times for death to be restrained.

Jack shrugged, “Because he didn’t insult my gun, he insulted my heels.”

It made sense to Geoff, like most things did when he was just buzzed enough, so he nodded again and looked down. The blood on the heel had transferred to Jack’s ankle. His calves looked hot as hell. Jack looked hot as hell.

“I’m Geoff.” He finally introduced himself, remembering that he hadn’t yet.

“I like your tattoos.” Jack glanced down, and the look on his face was a little friendlier than meeting outside an alley with a body in it really warranted.

“Want to go back to my place?” Geoff found himself asking and, when Jack frowned and narrowed his eyes, showed his hands in a sign of surrender.

“Yes.” Jack finally decided, picking up his purse from the ground and tossing the bottle in the closest trash can. “I think I do.”

Geoff ended up holding his purse for him. Jack didn’t seem worried that he would try to run off with it. Geoff didn’t even think to try. His eyes kept falling to Jack’s ass as they walked, the sway of it from those fucking heels. Jack didn’t mind. Geoff spent the last of his money - a few coins to his name until fucking Tuesday - on two condoms and a packet of lube from the 7-Eleven bathroom’s machines and then led Jack up the two flights of stairs. By the time they reached his door, Jack wasn’t quite wincing and his cheeks were flushed and Geoff felt a little bad because Jack just put all that work into getting to his apartment, just for Geoff to have to reveal that he had a bed barely big enough for them to lay on side by side with scratchy blankets and two flat pillows.

Jack didn’t seem to mind. He walked in without even a cautious look around. Geoff closed and locked the door after him and tried to subtly drop the plethora of empty booze bottles into the half-filled trash bag without Jack noticing. His placed the sparkling red purse on the counter and shifted on his feet. Jack, sitting primly on the bed, looking for all the world like a guy like him was totally comfortable in a shithole like this, patted the spot next to him.

It was nice, in the end. For some reason, Geoff had been under the assumption that it would be soft - maybe because Jack seemed like such a careful, calm person when he wasn’t being insulted - but it wasn’t. It wasn’t exactly hard either, but Geoff got beard-burn on his inner thighs and low on his back from when Jack ate him out and there were scraps from his nails along Jack’s back and hips, bruises on his ass from where Geoff’s heels had dug into the soft plush of his skin when they fucked. When he woke up the next morning, the little spoon and still sticky with come and lipstick stains around the base of his dick and too close to his asshole to be comfortable, he wasn’t hungover enough to need to throw up and he was warm from the soft belly against his back. The backs of his thighs were warmed by Jack’s and it was all very nice, being surrounded by the musky scent of a strange dude in a strange city that had no idea the humiliation he’d suffered. He liked it, in a hazy kind of way.

“Geoff,” Jack grunted when he finally tried to get up, “What the fuck are you doing?”  
“Work,” Geoff answered, tired and a little bitter that he had to leave. When he came back, Jack would be gone and he’d not have an ounce to drink for two days. Jack left his number and address though. And his purse.

Geoff, being a good Samaritan that he was, tracked the address down to return it.

Jack was wearing a dress when he answered the door, his heels nowhere to be seen. He was barefoot, looking intimate and comfortable and nice. He didn’t live in a place much nicer than Geoff, but he’d managed to make it so home-y - all warm whites and browns and reds. He had an actual bedroom and a closet the size of Geoff’s kitchen area full of nice skirts, dresses, and short shorts, except for a single few feet of space that had jeans, normal men’s shorts and some polos and button ups. His beard had been trimmed and there were less flowers and lipstick but his eyes were rimmed with black.

“You forgot your purse,” Geoff said once he’d managed to tear his eyes off Jack’s ankles. Who the fuck had ankles that nice, legs that smooth? He must have had to shave every few hours to keep them that silky.

“What a gent,” Jack grinned and stepped aside to let him in.

Geoff, feeling a little more confident, a little less hateful of the world because, yeah, it had given him his backstabbing crew, but it had also introduced him to Jack’s tongue and smiling eyes, walked in. He recognized that he was drowning too fast, that he’d  _just_  told himself a few weeks ago that he was a soft-hearted fool and that he wouldn’t ever be that stupid again, but Jack was…weird, in a way that made Geoff’s stomach flutter with something that wasn’t ten-dollar piss bought from the only supermarket that didn’t kick him out when he stumbled in smelling like shit and looking even worse. It was probably his eyes. No one had ever looked at Geoff like that, so appraising. Like Jack was measuring Geoff up and liking what he found. Geoff kind of hoped that he did.

Standing in Jack’s living room, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was pale, but his hair and stubble were too dark, his shirt too stained, his pants too threadbare and loose around his legs from all the weight he’d been losing from working and sweating and drinking without proper food. He didn’t feel clean enough for a place like Jack’s living room, but Jack just smiled at him and left to replace the purse in the closet that Geoff didn’t know about yet, but would eventually.

Jack had his own bottles of lube - some scented, flavored, sparkling, florescent colors, whatever struck his fancy - and pack of condoms.

He hadn’t meant for it to become a  _thing_ , but it did. Geoff was twenty-eight, washed up in a strange city that wanted to eat him for breakfast and then spit him out like he was a piece of shit, but he wasn’t alone. He had someone to watch out for him and, God help him, he wanted to watch out for Jack too.

Their  _thing_ , whatever it was, saved Geoff’s life. Jack kind of…hooked into him and  _yanked_  at him until he climbed out of the hole he’d been digging himself into since he’d dug the blade into the last of his old crew. And it was almost like, like Geoff felt like he could trust Jack specifically  _because_  they weren’t in a crew together. He wasn’t in between Jack and any money, Jack and any territory, Jack and any connections. Jack wasn’t between Geoff and anything he wanted, because now all that Geoff wanted was Jack. He moved out of his hole two months after they met and into Jack’s apartment almost without having to ask. Jack let him have a few inches of space in the closet, his clothes right next to Geoff’s few feet of masculine clothes

Geoff was thirty-one and Jack was wearing a pair of tan shorts he’d bought out of the Walmart and a tropical printed button up when Geoff had a thought that changed everything. His beard was clear of flowers, his face clear of makeup except for some glitter, but his nails were a bright pink and the sneakers he wore were purple. He still smiled at Geoff the same way he did three years earlier, when Geoff had given him the last bottle of booze he could afford until Tuesday and asked why he hadn’t shot the guy instead of stabbing him in the face with a heel. Geoff had been watching the news, a pretty Indian lady talking about a heist gone wrong that had ended in the deaths of three pigs and a carload of mobsters, and had thought:  _Jack and I could have pulled it off._

And the thought had stuck.

“Hey.” Geoff rolled over, scratching at his face because his beard was growing in and it was fucking itchy as shit, “Hey, Jack.”  
“Geoff,” Jack sighed, looking up from the file he’d been looking over, “I swear to God. You know I’m working. I want to get this done with.”  
“That’s what I’m saying.” Geoff pointed out, “You hate doing other people’s dirty work.”  
“We can’t all be vagrants,” Jack set his pen down, but he was smiling so Geoff didn’t take offense. He was pretty sure there wasn’t a word known to man that Jack could use to get a rise out of him, not with that smile.

“Yeah, okay,” Geoff shrugged, sitting up, “But, like, what if you didn’t have to do other crew’s work for them anymore? Outsourcing is so dangerous, dude, what if they come after you because they think you know too much.”  
“I do know too much, babe.” Jack pointed out, “I mean, I know everyone. Everything that goes on around these parts.”  
“And fuck if that isn’t a turn on,” Geoff grinned, ducking when Jack’s pen went sailing far above his head - nowhere near hitting him, but the threat behind it.

“My point is,” Geoff sighed, “You could be doing work for your own crew instead.”  
“You want me to join a crew?” Jack frowned, “There aren’t any I’d want to join.”  
“So,” Geoff set up, getting a sudden jolt of energy, “Let’s start our own.”  
“Let’s start our own crew?”  
“Let’s start our own!” Geoff repeated loudly, lost the energy, got tired, and laid back down. Thirty-one was too old for moving around so much.

“Geoff,” Jack sighed, voice dripping with amusement, “You hate gangs.”  
“Well, yeah,” Geoff waved a hand around, “But I love you, dude, and I love me, so, like, what if we just put those things together.”  
“Two people isn’t a crew,” Jack pointed out, but Geoff waved him off again.

“Then we’ll be a dynamic duo. The Gentlemen.”  
“The Gentlemen is a little long,” Jack finally gave in, “Maybe something shorter.”  
“The Gents.” Geoff settled on, making Jack laugh. His laugh was always nice, deep and happy like a drum beat. It made Geoff want to laugh, too, so he did.

“Well, you were quite the gent when we met.”  
“See?” Geoff got another burst of energy and set up, vision a little blurry from the flask of Jack Daniels he and Jack had been nursing for about an hour now, “It was fate!”  
“It was drink,” Jack finally stood up, closing his file for the night and locking it inside his work case, which was then locked inside his nightstand. He joined Geoff on the bed, knocked him back down and kissed him. Geoff didn’t fight him, couldn’t fight him even if he’d wanted to, anyway.

“Drink has great ideas,” Geoff tried to protest, but Jack laughed at him again.

“Tell me that when you’re sober and the news isn’t reporting a bunch of idiots fucking around with shit they shouldn’t be.”  
“‘scuse you,” Geoff grunted, trying to spread his legs even though his jeans weren’t letting it happen, “The Vagabond was a part of that crew, before it blew up.”  
“Fuck the Vagabond,” Jack teased a hand into Geoff’s pants, and Geoff had to agree with him - if only for the moment.

But the thought didn’t leave his mind.

Jack made a living by exploiting a special niche. People, specifically people the likes of which Geoff used to be, needed information. They needed information on buildings, on people, on money and territory disputes. In Achievement City, what they needed to get that information was Jack. He didn’t particularly enjoy doing it, because it was rarely fun to do a bunch of setup for something you weren’t even a part of, let alone getting anything except a few measly hundred bucks for. Still, it kept Jack from the poorhouse and, in turn, Geoff out of the poorhouse that he’d been in before he’d met Jack. Geoff, on the other hand, was - for the most part - an honest man. He did labor, or ran errands for people who didn’t want to or couldn’t do it themselves, small time crime like peddling if they were in a dry spell. It wasn’t much of an existence, but they’d been perfectly content until Geoff had had that thought.

_Jack and I could have pulled it off._

And that thought had made Geoff really think. Jack  _did_  hate his job. He liked knowing things, but getting paid crumbs for all his work was bullshit. Geoff hated  _working_. He wasn’t the working  _type_ , not when he could be robbing fat cats blind. He remembered the thrill of it when he’d been young, before his old crew had gone belly up, of planning heists and stealing and fighting for his life. He’d  _loved_ it. He knew Jack would love it.

That’s why, a week later, he looked Jack in the face and said, “I’m bored, let’s rob a gas station.”  
“What,” Jack blinked, looking up from the book he’d been reading. He frowned, like he’d heard Geoff wrong, so Geoff said it again.

“I’m bored.” He climbed out of the bed and stretched, “Let’s rob a gas station.”  
“You want to rob a gas station,” Jack hesitated, “I mean, are you sure?”  
“Definitely.” Geoff nodded, “Let’s go.”

“Right  _now_?” Jack frowned, “Geoff,”  
“Come on,” Geoff pulled a pair of pants on and shoved his feet into some sneakers, “I’m gonna grab your gun, you grab a ski mask. Be my get-away driver.”

“ _Geoff_ ,” Jack groaned, but he still stood up. He didn’t have the flowers or make up (except for some shiny gloss that Geoff loved to kiss off his lips when he wasn’t paying attention) and the pants he’d chosen for the day were a pair of dirty, worn jeans. Geoff was pretty sure they were actually his jeans, old and tight around Jack’s thighs and ass. Geoff blew a kiss at him and practically skipped into the closet to grab the gun. It was unregistered, not exactly the kind of thing he’d want if he’d been planning a heist or something, but it would do for the gas station. He hadn’t robbed anything in over three years, and the thought of getting back in the game was making his blood rush. It was like a flip had been switched.

_Jack and I could have pulled it off._

Jack was still sighing when he came back into the living room. He had a bright pink ski mask in his hand and Geoff made ‘gimme’ hands at it.

“Are you gonna kill the guy?” Jack asked, checking the gun quickly because he knew Geoff hadn’t yet.

“Maybe,” Geoff shrugged, then, “Nah. Let him live to tell the world the Gents are in town, now.”  
“Don’t you dare, asshole,” Jack gave him a firm once over and Geoff couldn’t help but kiss him.

“Come on, dude! This is gonna be fun as dicks!”  
“Nothing is as fun as dicks,” Jack disagreed, but followed him out of the apartment anyway. It was a statement to their neighborhood that not a person they crossed questioned the gun or the bright pink mask in Geoff’s hands.

They took Geoff’s bike, because it didn’t have a real license plate, and he was in the mood to feel the air in his hair. They chose a station about twenty minutes from the apartment, on a nicer part of town to avoid the cashier having some sort of heavy artillery under the counter or something, and it was mostly empty when Jack pulled up with a white helmet on and Geoff pressed to his back. They parked behind the car wash and Geoff pulled the ski mask on after pecking the helmet wetly, just to hear Jack laugh.

“Wish me luck, baby,”  
“Fuck you,” Jack caught his chin between his fingers and pressed his lips back to the helmet, where Jack’s lips would have been. It shouldn’t have made Geoff’s face flush, so he shoved the mask down over his face and nodded to hide it.

The door opened easily and the little old lady and the kid behind the counter were suitably terrified the moment they saw the mask.

“Open the register!” He yelled, pointing the gun at the ceiling, “Now!”  
The lady screamed and got on the floor before he’d even said a thing about it and the kid didn’t even pretend to care about the store’s money. He pressed a button and then hesitated.

“Plastic - Plastic or paper?” He asked timidly, glasses and a Nintendo DS on the counter.

Geoff dropped the gun and thought about it. He liked the easy handling of plastic, but Jack was so concerned about the environment.

“Which do you suggest?”  
“Um,” The kid cleared his throat, “I mean, uh. Our plastic’s kind of cheap. The paper isn’t biodegradable though, it’s got like…bits in it.”  
“Bits?” Geoff narrowed his eyes, “What kind of bullshit bagging company are you supplied by, kid? Bits in your paper bags?”  
“I just bag the shit, man!” The kid threw his hands up, “If it were up to me, the whole place’d be yours!’

“Fine, then get me a plastic bag and then put that in a paper bag so I can hold it easier! Also, give me the Nintendo.” Geoff finally decided, motioning him on with the gun without a thought.

“No way!” The kid shoved the Nintendo into his pocket.

“I have the gun here, man,” Geoff pointed out, waving the gun.

“I haven’t finished my game,” the boy crossed his arms, “Fuck yourself.”

Geoff sighed, but looked behind him, “How about you keep the DS and you throw a few cigarettes in for me.”

“I can do that,” the kid agreed and went about emptying the register. When he was done, he emptied a few cigarette cartons in there, too.

“Thanks, kid. Great customer service,” Geoff grabbed the bag and, hearing sirens close by, picked up a candy bar and a packet of gum and got the hell out of there.

He shoved the candy into the bag as he ran around the car wash. Jack was waiting, helmet on and worry literally radiating through the visor.

“Success, baby!” Geoff grunted, shoving their haul into the seat compartment and then slinging himself behind Jack, “Let’s hit the road!”

Jack sped away, zero to sixty as fast as the bike could go. For just a moment, Geoff thought the police were behind him but no, the sirens were fading.

His blood roared with the wind and he couldn’t help it when he ripped his mask off and screamed into it, whooping and yelling as loudly as he could. He felt Jack shake under his hands, laughing at him or with him, or both. The money was hot under his seat, he had no idea how much or how little. Really, fifty dollars felt like the haul of a lifetime to Geoff after his hiatus.

They made six hundred dollars. It was enough to pay rent and utilities, enough for a bottle of champagne. They toasted to the Gents and to the kid, and to bits in paper bags. It was a good night.

“Next time,” Geoff promised, “You can rob it, okay?”  
Jack laughed, relaxed and drunk on their bed, “Thanks, babe.”  
“No problem-o,” Geoff rolled on top of him and snuggled until he was wrapped all around Jack. Their new crew was so young, so small, but Geoff was already excited for their next job.

There next job, it turned out, was a few days later. Jack robbed the convenience store because Geoff was too wiggly, too into it, to just stand there and wait for the clerks to empty all four registers but Jack was so calm even with the ruddy flush of excitement on his cheeks. Geoff had almost been scared that maybe Jack wasn’t as into the idea as Geoff was, that Jack wasn’t going to love it like Geoff loved it. He’d almost been scared, until Jack had stood up behind him, gripping tight to Geoff’s shoulders as they sped down the highway - away from the store and the cops - and shouted into the wind as loudly as he could. Geoff swerved but Jack didn’t act scared at all.

They had to take the nearest exit so Geoff could pull into a thick packet of trees and blow Jack, hiking his pink dress up to his hips and going to town. When he was done, Jack was ruddy with more than excitement and his ankle was shaking, one thigh over Geoff’s shoulder and his pink flip-flop the only thing supporting him other than Geoff’s hands on his ass and hip.

“Fuck, I love you,” Geoff panted, helping Jack to get his foot back under him. Jack laughed, just a soft puff because Geoff had sucked all the air from his lungs out through his dick, and ran his sharp fingers through his dark hair until Geoff had got himself back under control.

“You’d better. Now, take me home, Geoff. We’ve got money to count and a crew to recruit.”  
“Recruit?” Geoff blinked, letting Jack pull him up and then brushing the dirt and leaves off his knees.

“If we’re gonna be in a crew,” Jack fixed his hair for him and started for the bike, “We need to be the best crew. I don’t settle, babe.”

Geoff felt his lips twitch into a wide grin.

“You don’t settle, huh?”  
Jack glanced over his shoulder and smiled and fuck if he didn’t look like a hot pink demon - the dark of the night as a backdrop to bubblegum pink and flower-threaded ginger, eyes hidden by moonlight and glasses, a soft yet somehow dangerous smile on his glossy lips.

“No. I don’t.”

“Yeah, well,” Geoff brushed his ass off and caught up, throwing an arm around Jack’s waist as they walked back to the bike, “Neither do I. Let’s rob a fuckin’ bank, Jack.”  
“A bank?”  
“If we’re gonna recruit, we gotta show ‘em we’re already the best.” Geoff explained, straddling the bike and leaning back into Jack once he’d settled behind him, “And that means money.”

“You just wanna be a fat cat,” Jack teased, and Geoff didn’t argue.

They hit up a string of small-time banks three weeks later. Jack finished up his last job, half-assing it just a little, and Geoff quit the small agency that had been sending him out on whatever needed doing for the day. Jack called in a favor, cleaned the money up, and - in a matter of two weeks - they were set up just fine if they ignored that they were now wanted for three bank robberies and two murders (one tried to be a hero and the other was just a fucking douche about being robbed). No one knew who they were, yet, but once they had settled into their place, Geoff was going to make sure that changed.

With three years of healing and Jack, now, he was ready to get back into the business of it and burn his name into the city that had tried to burn him.

 

 

 


End file.
